This one life

Overwhelmed

We make patterns out of stars
And we whisper little prayers
To be somewhere that we're not
And if we're good it will take us there

"Overwhelmed", Rachel Platten

„Hast du von dem Mann gehört, der letzten Dezember in München am Rande eines Weihnachtsmarktes erstochen wurde?", frage ich, und füge schnell hinzu „es war ziemlich groß in den Medien, 2 Tage vor dem Finale von 'The Voice'."

Er sieht mich verständnislos an und schüttelt dann langsam den Kopf.

„Nein", sagt er, und bevor er fragen kann, was das mit meinem Ring zu tun hat, rede ich weiter.

„Ein Obdachloser hatte zuviel getrunken und danach noch Badesalz inhaliert oder irgendetwas anderes eingeworfen. Jedenfalls fing er an, auf dem Weihnachtsmarkt herumzupöbeln und Passanten zu belästigen. Eine Fußstreife der Polizei war in der Nähe und wollte ihn bitten zu gehen, aber er ist in den Englischen Garten geflüchtet. Dort hat er dann weitergemacht, rumgeschrien und Passanten gedroht. Die beiden Polizisten sind ihm also hinterher und wollten ihn kontrollieren und eventuell zur Ausnüchterung auf die Wache bringen. Da zog er plötzlich ein Messer und stach auf einen der Beamten ein."

Ich habe es bis hierhin geschafft, relativ nüchtern zu erzählen, und halte kurz inne.

„Er hatte 3 Messerstiche, bevor sein Kollege eingreifen konnte und ist noch an Ort und Stelle verblutet."

Michael Patrick schaut mich aus betrübten Augen noch immer fragend an. Ich senke den Blick, damit er nicht sieht, wie sich eine einzelne Träne nun ihren Weg über meine Wange bahnt.

„Das war mein Mann", beende ich, fast schon flüsternd, meine Geschichte.

Die sekundenlange Stille, die mir nun entgegenschlägt, ist Beweis genug dafür, dass er das nicht erwartet hat. Als ich meine Gefühle wieder halbwegs unter Kontrolle habe, sehe ich vorsichtig auf und blicke in ein geschocktes Gesicht.

„Ich habe meinen Ehering heute in die Themse geworfen. An der Stelle, an der ich ihn bekommen habe..." Ich muss schlucken und sehe schnell aus dem Fenster.

I am not a person that swears easily and often, even more so since my 6 years' pause from public life, and if I felt the urge to swear in the past, it was usually out of anger, frustration, pain or helplessness. Now is one of those moments, and I can't tell what is worst: the pain I feel with her, knowing what it feels like to lose someone close to you, or the helplessness this situation poses to me. I don't know what to do, don't know what to say, knowing that I can't make it better, no matter what I do or say. She is staring out of the window and doing a very good job at keeping her feelings at bay, while mine are so overwhelming that I want to scream and shout. And swear. Why did I not see it? The way she always looked when we talked about her ring, the proposal or Tower Bridge – I should have noticed; I was trying hard to figure her out. Why wasn't I taken aback by the fact that she bought something for her kinds, but not for her husband? The only excuse I have is that she must have worked very hard to keep up the impression. Because she didn't want me to know. That's the only rational conclusion I can draw. A pang of guilt hits me when I realize that I have put her into this uncomfortable position without her will. What to do?

I feel the urge to touch her, to take her into my arms and comfort her, but I don't know if this would be a good idea and if she'd let me. I swallow hard and switch seat to sit next to her. She is still staring out of the train window and pretending to watch the people on the platform. I gently place my hand on her upper arm and look at her.

„Jasmin?", I ask and my voice sounds strange. She blinks, then looks at me. I feel so incredibly sorry for her.

„Es tut mir schrecklich leid. I know these words always sound shallow, and I did not know your husband, so it must seem strange to you. Aber ich fühle mit dir."

She isn't looking at me, but at my T-shirt, probably to avoid my eyes.

„Ich weiß, wie es sich anfühlt, jemanden zu verlieren, der dir nahesteht, und deren Zeit noch nicht gekommen ist."

She blinks again and looks up into my face. Her eyes are not as grey as I thought, but glint bluish in the artificial light of the station. She nods without saying a thing, which encourages me to go on.

„Ich weiß, dass das Leben manchmal nicht fair ist, und Gott uns immer wieder schwere Aufgaben zu meistern gibt."

She smiles now and I am confused, but determined to go on.

„Ich bin mir sicher, dass du deine Aufgabe gerade sehr gut meisterst. Zumindest denke ich das nach den letzten 2 Tagen", I say and realize that I have been stroking her arm for some time now.

She looks as if she feels uncomfortable, so I pull my hand back and turn slightly into her direction. She is looking down into her lap now, when she suddenly says: „Siehst du, das ist das Problem. Ich glaube nicht an Gott."

I am surprised by this change of topic, but glad that she is talking again and not crying as I had feared (I have had too many crying women in my life already, and I still feel helpless in coping with them).

„Warum nicht?" I ask her and notice subconsciously that we have travelled almost half the distance to Heathrow already. There are more people on the train now and my original seat opposite of Jasmin gets taken that very moment. She draws in a big breath.

„Nun, die Frage ist eher: Warum sollte ich?", she looks at me defiantly and thoughtfully. I want to interrupt her with my protest, but she raises one hand to stop me and says: "Ich weiß, dass du sehr gläubig bist, und habe sehr großen Respekt davor, glaub mir. Ich würde mich niemals darüber lustig machen oder deinen Glauben nicht respektieren!" She looks at me, maybe expecting more protest. When it doesn't come, she continues: „Meine Überzeugung ist eine andere, und daran kann weder Gott, noch ein Pfarrer, noch DU...", she smiles at me, „..irgendetwas ändern."

Minutes later we are immersed in a (partially heated) discussion about atheism, god and religion in general, and I am taken aback by the passion with which she defends her belief, or rather, non-belief. It is interesting to see how, within minutes, she has turned from the vulnerable person that had me frustrated so many times within the past 24 hours to a quick-witted, literate and confident woman again.

I am having trouble following her explanations sometimes because she talks so quickly and uses German words the sense of which is not always clear to me, so I have to interrupt her more than once to ask her for an explanation, a fact that seems to amuse her.

„Was ist so lustig?", I ask her challengingly when she snorts with amusement after I have just asked for another clarification.

„Ach", she grins, „nur dass Du Theologie studiert hast und ich dir nun sowas erklären muss...". Wait a second! She has got this all wrong!

"Oh yeah?!", I reply challengingly. "For your information, it is not the concept that is unclear to me, but all those terms you are using", I say with emphasis.

"So why don't we discuss this in English?!", I ask a bit too aggressively and she laughs out loud.

"Fine", she says with mock aggression herself, "I am not afraid of all your English terms, Mr. Kelly". She stresses the word English as if this was some kind of weapon I was wielding. I smirk. This might become interesting....